


One Equal Temper of Heroic Hearts

by 17 pansies (17pansies)



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Bond is snarky, Death of various OMCs, First Time, Guest appearance by European terrorists, M/M, Mallory isn't, Q is Q, Stupidly competent at everything except feelings, Tanner is oblivious, This is ridiculously English
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-21
Updated: 2014-01-21
Packaged: 2018-01-09 13:59:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1146812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/17pansies/pseuds/17%20pansies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bill Tanner knows how it is and really doesn't expect much to change.  M, it appears, has other ideas; assuming Tanner doesn't manage to get himself killed when someone tries to blow up MI6.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Equal Temper of Heroic Hearts

**Author's Note:**

> This was written to show these two wonderful men a little love. This has to be the most underrated rare pair in any fandom. 
> 
> It was shamelessly encouraged by @sirona_gs and @cinnamonanna on Twitter, and beautifully beta'd by the same lovely [Sirona](http://archiveofourown.org/users/sirona/). Neve, ILU <3
> 
> In the books, Fleming gives Tanner's rank as Lieutenant Colonel. I wanted Tanner to regain his military standing, but couldn't have him equal Mallory, so I'm afraid I demoted him. Sorry, old boy.

"You know, you should just tell him."

"Fuck off, Bond," Tanner said pleasantly. He turned away from where he'd been watching Mallory - M, he reminded himself - talk to a couple of techs from the deeper recesses of Q branch. Something about the new breed of undetectable subcutaneous trackers for the double-ohs or some such. "What do you want?" 

"Just curious." Bond rested one immaculately-clad hip on the edge of the closest desk and grinned. Not so much shark as wolf, Tanner thought, narrowing his eyes. 

"About what?" 

"Being microchipped like some pet pooch." 

"It's not the first time you've had it done."

"True. Like it worked so spectacularly well on the last occasion." Bond's eyes suddenly flicked away from Tanner's as a door opened and Tanner didn't need to turn to see who it was who'd entered the room. The minute softening of Bond's expression was, whilst mildly terrifying, clue enough. 

"I wonder what Q thinks of all this," Tanner mused. Bond's attention snapped back to him. "I'm sure he'll be happy to know where you are at all times."

"And by that you mean…?" 

Tanner was saved from having to reply by M's appearance at the door to the observation room. 

"Ah, good, Bond. Q has the implant gun to hand. Seeing as how you're here, you can be our first subject."

"Guinea pig, you mean." There was no heat in his words, however. M raised an eyebrow. "Of course, sir."

Tanner grinned, unrepentant, as M strode out. Bond followed more slowly. 

"Bond," he said, just as the door was about to close. 

"Yes, Tanner?" 

"You should really just tell him, you know." 

One day, Tanner thought, as the door shut on the heat of Bond's glare, he would stop taking so much perverse pleasure in poking trained killers. 

Maybe. 

He watched the fascinating dance between 007 and the Quartermaster, telling himself that he was only looking at M to gauge his reaction to Bond's snarking. At least M and Bond appeared to have come to some sort of understanding - truce would probably be a closer approximation of the truth - and were working well together. 

Tanner still missed the old M, in spite of her crotchety bitching. She'd had a biting dry wit and an ability to see straight through the bullshit that so many people tried to blind her with. He'd seen the report of the Skyfall incident and between the lines, Tanner had read affection and an enormous amount of respect for her in Bond's terse prose. She may have been an old lady but she'd had a backbone of steel and Tanner was immensely proud to have worked with her. Something he was hoping to grow into with Mallory. 

And, at the same time, grow out of this stupid case of hero worship. Because that's all it was, he told himself, deliberately turning his back on the big window and heading back to his office. Nothing more. Hero worship after watching Mallory in action in the hearing room, after seeing him take a bullet in defence of M and everyone in there, after listening to him read M's eulogy full of her accomplishments and lightened with a couple of anecdotes that were neither mawkish nor disrespectful... 

Crap, but he had it bad. Sighing, Tanner dropped into the chair at his desk and scowled at the clock. 5:25 on a Friday evening and judging by the nine memos in his inbox, he wouldn't be getting home anytime soon. Not that there was any real rush, he thought, clicking on the first one and starting to read. Nothing waiting for him except a microwave meal and a couple of bottles of Peroni. At least here he could get something halfway decent in the cafeteria on U3, the floor above Q branch. After which he’d probably go lurk in Q's office. He looked up an hour later as his office door opened, and sighed. 

Unless, of course, Eve came looking for him. 

"M wants you," she said. 

"Most normal people use the telephone to relay messages like that." 

"You're next door and I was on my way out anyway." She smiled at him and he belatedly noticed she was wearing her coat. "I'm off. M's got me doing a milk run to Dubrovnik tomorrow so I think he wants to go over it all with you before you leave tonight."

"I'm not going anywhere in a hurry." Tanner waved his hand at his desk. "I've just found 004's requisition forms and mission report in my inbox and I have to come up with a suitable reason to explain why she put a motorcycle through the front door of the US Embassy in Oslo last week." 

Eve, the cow, actually giggled. 

"Traitor,” he grumbled, which made her smile even more. 

“I’d offer to help, honestly I would, but I have to be at Gatwick for a little after half five tomorrow morning.” She winked at him. “Don’t forget M is waiting for you.”

As if he could. It appeared Eve knew it too, as her smile softened. 

“You’re hopeless,” she told him, but there was a fond note in her voice. “Honestly. I don’t know who is worse, you or Bond.”

“I have no idea what you’re on about,” he said stiffly. 

“Of course not.” A shake of the head. “Good night Bill, I’ll see you next week.”

He nodded absently and stared at the now-empty doorway. Oh god.

The new office M had chosen was something of a throwback to older times. Tanner let himself into the outer office where Eve usually sat, and paused outside the door to the inner office. In his mind’s eye he could see M sat behind the big oak desk in the plush leather chair. It was nothing like the glass and chrome set up the old M had had. He didn’t know which he preferred, to be honest - the clean lines of the open plan office with its view over the river, or this comfortable nod to a gentleman’s club and the good old days of the Cold War. Oh, get a grip, Tanner told himself irritably. 

“Sir?” he said, knocking briefly on M’s door. There was a muffled reply from inside which Tanner took as a ‘yes’ and so he pushed into the office.

M was nowhere in sight.

“Sir?” he repeated.

“Here.” M appeared from behind his desk, sitting up and smoothing his hand over his hair. “Dropped my bloody pen.”

“I see.” Tanner took a deep breath, shoved the wayward thought about how attractively dishevelled M had looked for a moment somewhere deep down inside himself and pulled his bomb-proof professional persona around him. “Eve said you wanted to see me?”

“Yes, yes I did. Take a seat. Did she mention Dubrovnik?”

“Yes sir.” Tanner dropped into the chair next to M’s desk and took the offered sheaf of paper. For the next hour or so they worked together in quiet accord. Reading and cross referencing, speaking only to question something or double check, they went through the papers for Eve’s jaunt the next day. Everything seemed to be in order, Tanner thought, skimming through a recent report from her contact. At least she wasn’t being asked to shoot anyone.

Suddenly, he was back in the previous M’s office, listening to Eve’s voice coming over the small loudspeaker, tinny and harsh. M’s order, “Take the bloody shot”. And then, heart stopping seconds later, the two quiet, shaken words. “Agent down.” He would never forget the look on M’s face in that moment, the echoes of irritation and anger over-ridden by gut-punched shock. 

“Bill?”

“Sorry.” Tanner blinked and looked up. “I just…”

“It’s quite all right.” Mallory smiled and something inside Tanner did a backflip at the realisation that Mallory had just used his Christian name. Quickly, he stomped on it before Mallory could see anything else. “It’s nearly eight o’clock. Do you fancy a drop of something?”

“Yes please.” Although drinking probably wasn’t the wisest thing to do when he needed to keep his wits about him, Tanner thought. He pretended to read the paper in his hand although it took him three or four goes to get the first sentence to actually make sense. He heard the sound of a stopper being pulled, the gentle splash of liquid and then a glass of something pale amber in colour appeared on the desk in his peripheral vision. “Thank you, sir.”

“We’re probably the last two living souls on this floor, Bill, I’m sure it wouldn’t kill you to use my given name.” Mallory lifted his glass and took a sip, his sigh of appreciation lighting up the nerves at the nape of Tanner’s neck. “I know the last M hated her name. It’s no secret that she all but wiped it from the record books once she was assigned the M designation. But I’m really rather fond of Gareth, you know.”

Tanner picked up his glass, trying not to blink owlishly over the rim at Mallory. To give himself a moment to think of a suitable reply (which wasn’t “I’m rather fond of Gareth too”) he took a small mouthful. 

Brandy, he thought, a delighted little smile breaking through his stoic facade. 

“That’s a bloody good cognac,” he said, lifting his glass to admire the colour. 

“M liked her bourbon.” Mallory shuddered. “Hideous stuff.”

“I know. But there were some occasions when I was just grateful for anything more than 20% proof.”

Mallory laughed and Tanner couldn’t help his grin.

“I think it goes with the job,” Mallory admitted, leaning back in his chair and swirling the amber liquid around in the fine cut-crystal tumbler. “We’ve probably got more alcohol on the premises, at least on the upper floors, than you’d find on Old Compton Street.” 

“I have to say, this is a vast improvement on what M used to drink.” Tanner’s brain was still stumbling over the reference to Old Compton Street and he took another sip of brandy to try and align his thoughts. “Makes staying this late more than bearable.”

Mallory glanced at his watch and sighed.

“Occupational hazard. I honestly don’t know how M found the time to be married.”

“Her husband was a man of great patience.” Tanner lifted the glass to his nose and breathed in the fumes deeply. “Actually, he was a really nice chap - I met him several times over the years she was M.”

“You worked with her for her whole tenure?” Mallory looked genuinely interested. This was gossip he’d not been privy to, Tanner supposed, although the bare facts would have been in the briefing from the PM.

“Most of it. The last eight years or so.”

“And prior to that?”

“Army. Invalided out after being shot in Afghan.” Tanner looked into his glass, not wanting to see pity on Mallory’s face. There was a long pause.

“Infantry?” Mallory asked.

“Me? Infantry?” Tanner couldn’t help the bark of a laugh which escaped. When he did meet Mallory’s eyes, they were smiling. “Not bloody likely. Sir,” he added after a moment, out of habit.

“I told you, it’s Gareth this far behind the lines.”

“Surely you read up on my file before keeping me on as Chief of Staff?” 

“Only the basics. Bond vouched for you and that’s good enough for me. I’ve had more than enough personnel to cram up on so there are a few I’ve taken at face value, until I find the time to go through their files. M trusted you, Q has a very high opinion of you and your abilities, and Bond actually likes you. For all the bickering the two of you do.”

“We’ve kind of been around for a while,” Tanner admitted. “Life expectancy isn’t great out in the field, so when you get to know someone over a period of years, you can develop, no pun intended, a bit of a bond.”

It was Mallory’s turn to laugh.

“So, not infantry. What then?”

“Intelligence Corps. Straight into Sandhurst out of Queen Mary, London. Operational and Counter Intelligence, although I did a bit of Humint as well.” 

“Which is what you were doing when you were shot?”

“Pretty much,” Tanner allowed, absently scratching the back of his head as he thought. “Little bit of all three, to be honest.”

“Rank?”

“Major.”

Mallory nodded. Picking up the brandy, he leaned forward and added another small splash to their glasses. 

“Explains why you’re here,” he said with an air of satisfaction. “Also explains Bond’s reply when I asked him about you.”

Tanner tried not to read too much into the idea of Mallory asking about him, but it was only years of intelligence work that stopped him reacting with a blush.

“I’m not sure I really want to know,” he said with a smile. 

“I’ve watched you - you tend to verbally spar at every opportunity. If he didn’t like you or trust you, he’d simply ignore you.” Setting his glass down, Mallory began to scoop up all the paperwork into a manila folder. “I asked him if I should keep you on as Chief of Staff or look at finding a new one, and he was characteristically blunt.”

Tanner winced and said, “Go on.”

“I quote, ‘If you replace Tanner you’re a bloody fool’. And I, Major, am nobody’s fool.”

“I didn’t doubt that for a moment, Lieutenant Colonel.”

He watched as Mallory dropped the manila folder into the top drawer of his desk and locked it, then secured the cork into the bottle of cognac and slipped that into the drawer below. Regretfully, Tanner tipped the last few drops of brandy onto his tongue and sighed. 

“I’ll see you in the morning then, sir,” he said, placing the glass down. Mallory raised an eyebrow. “Gareth,” he corrected and was rewarded with a warm smile.

“Good night, Bill.”

 

 ~

 

"With all due respect, sir," Bond said, words practically dripping with ice. "You're being cruel." 

"Cruel?" The incredulity in Mallory's voice made Tanner pay attention even if he didn't actually move a muscle from where he stood sorting action sheets in the corner of the lab. The room wasn't that big so they can't have failed to see him but he was so used to being grey and treated as part of the furniture he didn't expect them to bother with his presence. "A double-oh just called me cruel. Pot kettle much?" 

"We're only cruel to get the job done. What you're doing is nothing more than idle entertainment." 

Mallory frowned. 

"Most targets I torture are aware of what I need from them," Bond continued. "Yours hasn't a clue." 

Tanner watched Bond scoop up the folder and flick through its contents. Mallory, unusually, didn't comment. He was missing something, Tanner thought, and he was bright enough to realise that he was probably a part of it, but didn't have the foggiest idea what Bond was alluding to. 

Fucking double-ohs. 

He listened with half an ear as Mallory finished the briefing and sent Bond on his way, instructing him to pop into the next room to collect whatever gizmo Q had dreamed up for his pet agent this time. 

"If that's all, I'll be off now, sir," Tanner said. He stacked the last folder in the file drawer and locked the drawer. Mallory was staring at the tip of his fountain pen with a pensive expression.

"Hmm?" he said, looking up. "Oh right." Obviously Mallory had forgotten he was even there, Tanner thought, ignoring the twist of hurt in his chest. 

"If there's nothing pressing I'll be in Monday morning," he said, picking up his jacket. He needed a day to clear his head, that much was obvious. Bond would be travelling, so (hopefully) not likely get himself into any life threatening situations, and the two other double-ohs out in the field were on long term surveillance until the end of next week. The idea of a whole day off was incredibly appealing.

Which is, of course, when something exploded.

He was running before he’d even thought it through, only peripherally aware of Mallory following him. That time of night, the muffling of the explosion - someone was trying to get into the underground bunker.

He bypassed the lift, shoved through the doors to the stairwell and was taking the stairs two at a time before the idea that maybe heading towards more possible bombs wasn’t the smartest of moves. But Q was down here as well as Bond and Tanner knew well enough that they were infinitely more valuable than he was to MI6. He bounded up the last three steps and pushed through the door into the main reception area. One of the big gates was open and he could see dust and smoke through the gap. A staff sergeant was handing out guns to a small squad of their police guard.

“For God’s sake, man, stand down!” Mallory ordered, appearing behind him. “You don’t know what else might be about to go off.”

“Which is why I need you to get back down to Q’s office and stay there.” Tanner rounded on him. “You should not have followed me up here and you know it.”

Mallory blinked at the steel in Tanner’s voice.

“You don’t tell me-”

“Oh yes I do, sir, especially at moments of increased risk such as these. You are head of MI6, I am your Chief-of-Staff and it is my position to protect you at all costs. You will get back downstairs at once. If possible, get Bond up here but you and Q need to keep your distance.”

“Bill,” Mallory seemed lost for words.

“Don’t argue with me, M. Do it.” Tanner pulled his service weapon from its holster under his left arm and flicked the safety off. As he did so, Bond came charging up the stairwell. “Ah, good, Bond. Just remind M here that he should not be in the direct line of fire any more.”

“Q’s office, now sir,” Bond said, his own gun already in his hand. “You can hold that with ease, single point of access, bomb-proof walls. Q has an entire armoury down there.”

Grudgingly, Mallory backed away as there was another, minor explosion. Tanner caught the eye of the staff sergeant who nodded, then raised an eyebrow when he saw Bond. 

“Sergeant, I want you to hold this gate,” Tanner told him. “We’ll take four officers and head down the tunnel.”

“Yes sir,” the sergeant said. “Adams, your team is up.”

Tanner recognised the tall West Indian and two of the three other officers who made up the reduced squad. Adams saluted smartly and Tanner tipped his head towards the gate.

“Ready, Bond?” he asked, and got a tight nod in return.

“Stay close to the wall,” Bond ordered as they slipped through the gate, Adams taking point. “Breathe shallowly, we don’t know what explosives they’ve used.”

Tanner shadowed Bond as they made their way up the tunnel. There were no further explosions. Things were actually too quiet. The deceptive curve of the entrance tunnel meant that they couldn’t actually see more than twenty yards or so.

Adams’ radio chattered and he paused, pressing one finger into his ear.

“It’s not up by the road, sir,” he said, turning to Tanner. “Gate reports no one has been past him in the last three hours.”

“Somewhere in the middle of tunnel then,” Bond said. He raised an eyebrow at Tanner, who nodded.

“If they didn’t come down from the road, they must have come in through the ventilation shafts.”

Adams nodded and pointed at two of his men. They set off up the tunnel, heads low, weapons out. Before Bond could draw breath to speak to the remaining one, there was a burst of gunfire.

“Shit,” Tanner swore. 

“You didn’t have any pressing plans tonight, did you, Tanner?” Bond asked, flattening them both back against the wall, one arm across Tanner’s chest. The officer still with them dropped down onto one knee, weapon raised. Tanner looked between his own Glock and the officer’s Heckler & Koch, then sighed. Bond glanced at him, saw where he was looking and grinned tightly. 

“No, no plans,” Tanner told him, twitching back against the brick as another short crack of gunfire sounded. Bond, the bastard, didn’t even flinch. The officer kneeling in front of them let off half a dozen rounds, then suddenly leapt to his feet and ran down the tunnel.

Bond sighed.

“Shall we?” he asked. 

“Please, after you,” Tanner gestured with his gun.

“Guess I’d better. M would have my hide if I let you get shot first.” 

Before Tanner could query that, Bond ducked down the tunnel and he had no choice other than to follow. 

A hundred yards down the arched, brick passageway they found a mound of rubble, behind which Adams and his men were sheltering, returning fire towards a group of balaclava wearing individuals who were using what appeared to be an armoured Land Rover as cover.

“That’s one of ours,” Tanner said, dropping into a crouch next to Bond. He fished around in his breast pocket for the tiny earpiece he knew was there. “Q, can you read me?”

“Loud and clear,” came Q’s voice a moment later. “I was wondering which one of you would remember your comms first.”

Tanner watched Bond stick his finger in his ear.

“Q, can you get a reading on the ventilation shafts that run above the tunnel ?” Bond asked.

Tanner listened as the two of them discussed entry and exit points, the sound of Q typing furiously coming loud and clear over the comm. 

“Right, Tanner, fall back with these two,” Bond waved a hand at the two closest officers. “Go back down towards the inner gate and leave one man covering each ventilation shaft in the roof. I’ll take the sergeant here and advance from the left, and you three,” he pointed at the remaining officers. “Keep up a steady hail of fire from the right, don’t waste ammunition but see if you can let off a round every second or two, keep them on their toes. Try not to hit the Land Rover - I have plans for that.”

Tanner rolled his eyes but did as Bond said, dropping further back and keeping to the inside curve of the tunnel wall. He took a moment to check his clip and then nodded at the officer nearest him.

“Taylor, isn’t it?”

“Yes sir. This is Davis,” he indicated the other officer. 

“Right. Seeing as how you both have a lot more ammunition than I do, Taylor, you can take point and Davis follows behind. First shaft, Davis, you stay put.” He paused and ducked at a flurry of gunfire. A quick glance back showed Bond was moving. “Let’s go.”

They jogged back down the tunnel, heads down, weapons at the ready and Tanner was relieved to find the first ventilation shaft in the ceiling just a couple of dozen yards later. The steel cover looked intact.

“Anyone comes through there you don’t instantly recognise, shoot them.”

“You need them to still be able to talk?” Davis was as Welsh as his name, Tanner saw, with the hard eyes of a seasoned soldier. Many of the police who MI6 seconded into their armed ranks were ex-military and Tanner had never been more grateful for that fact than he was at that point.

“Preferably.” 

Davis nodded, put his back to the wall and shouldered his Heckler.

“Next one,” Tanner pointed, and Taylor nodded.

They were pretty much underneath the second steel grille when there was a crash from behind them, accompanied by the sound of a V8 being pushed to the limit.

It wasn’t coming closer, though. Tanner glanced at Taylor, who shrugged.

“Dead driver, foot on pedal,” he said, and there was something to be said for being succinct under pressure. 

“You watch here, I’ll take the last one by the inner gate,” Tanner said, wishing his could see around the gentle bend in the tunnel which now hid everything from view.

“Sir.” 

There were four officers outside the inner gate, Hecklers at the ready. Tanner holstered his Glock as the staff sergeant stepped forward. 

“Everything under control, sir?” the staff sergeant asked.

“They came in through the ventilation shafts, took one of our Landys from the side tunnel. 007 has them at an impasse about two hundred yards round the bend.” 

“There’s movement thirty metres to your north,” Q said in his ear suddenly.

“My north or Bond’s?” Tanner asked, spinning round and looking up.

“Yours, Tanner.”

There was another Land Rover parked against the wall. Tanner was giving orders before Q had finished speaking. The officer in charge climbed up onto the roof of the vehicle and put the butt of his gun to the hasp holding the grille closed. He took his hat off, balanced it on the barrel of his gun and stuck it through the open hatch.

Four rapid shots spun the hat clean off the barrel and everyone ducked.

“I won’t be climbing up in there then,” the officer noted. “We’ll just wait for someone to try and come down.”

“I’ve got a better idea,” another of the officers said. He swung up onto the roof of the Land Rover, stuck his Heckler up into the hole in the roof of the tunnel and pulled the trigger. Several five-round bursts echoed down the shaft. “That’ll give the fuckers something to think about,” he said, satisfied. He let of another couple of bursts just for good measure. 

Tanner grinned at him. 

“You hold here, I’ll go make sure Bond hasn’t blown everything up. If someone does fall through that hole,” he added, “I’d like at least one of them to still be able to talk.”

“Yes sir.” 

There was something to be said for being in the field again, Tanner thought, cautiously making his way back towards the blocked portion of the tunnel. Even if it was only outside his front door, so to speak. 

Tanner came upon the blockage in the tunnel just in time to see Adams tackle a black clad intruder. There was another similarly dressed figure lying deathly still on the floor. The Land Rover was nose first into the pile of rubble, and someone had reached in to turn the engine off without disturbing the figure in the driver’s seat. At least, Tanner couldn’t imagine anyone still being able to do it himself with that much of his head splattered over the windscreen.

“Bond?” he asked. “What are you doing?”

“Trying to persuade the last two idiots to come out of the ventilation system before I get bored and shoot them,” was the reply in his ear. 

“We’ve got one alive,” Tanner shrugged, looking at the kicking, squirming man currently being hogtied with tie wraps. “If they won’t come quietly, eliminate them.”

There was a pause, then a low chuckle.

“Nice to see you inherited some of the old M’s cold-blooded nature, Tanner.”

“She had more than a few good ideas.”

There were two cracks in quick succession, and a minute later, Bond dropped down out of the hole in the ceiling above the pile of rubble.

“Does that include shooting me?”

“Ask me again when you’re dismantling half of London.” 

Bond clapped him on the shoulder, grinning.

“Take him down to Interrogation,” Tanner instructed the two officers holding the still-fighting intruder. Bond stepped forward and pulled the balaclava off the man’s head. “I’m sure you’ve got a bloody good reason for this.”

“ _¡Vete al infierno!_ ” the man spat.

“Seriously?” Tanner shook his head. “Please tell me this wasn’t some half-baked, ETA fuck-up.”

“Spanish?” Q’s voice echoed the disbelief Tanner felt. “I wasn’t expecting that.”

“Neither was I.” Tanner jerked his head back down the tunnel and Bond nodded, falling into step beside him. “Start pulling up what you can on overseas attacks, Q, and run this chap through facial recognition once Adams’ men get him down to Interrogation.”

“Will do. Demand tea from someone on your way down here, 007. Only do it nicely, please.”

“Of course-”

The rattle of small arms fire that interrupted them was abruptly punctuated with a red flare of agony across the top of Tanner’s arm. He felt himself spun back against the wall and spent a moment cursing creatively. Bond was there, shielding him with his body and bringing his Glock up at the ready. 

“Are you okay?” he asked, over his shoulder.

“Flesh wound,” Tanner said through gritted teeth. “Not even a through-and-through.”

Someone started shouting and the sound of heavy footfalls running away from them echoed off the tunnel walls. Bond lowered his weapon slowly, turning to stare at Tanner’s arm.

“Let me see.” He tugged Tanner’s jacket off, and dropped it. The left sleeve of his white shirt was sodden with blood already, a perversely good sign. “M is going to have me shot.” 

“What are you on abo- _fuck!_ ” Tanner swore as Bond dug his thumb into the wound. 

“You’re right, it’s just a graze, but keep your bloody head down.” Crouching for a moment, Bond ripped the lining out of the back of the dropped jacket and proceeded to use it to fashion a quick field dressing.

“Happy now?” Tanner grumbled.

“I will be when I find the last one. This group is starting to irritate me.” 

“That doesn’t bode well for his life expectancy.” Tanner tested the range of movement he still had in his left arm. It wasn’t brilliant but it would have to do. “Shall we head back up towards the main entrance?”

Bond raised both eyebrows. He opened his mouth to say something, probably acerbic but a double crack from a Glock made both of them turn to look. A moment later, Adams came jogging down the tunnel, wearing a satisfied smile.

“Sorry sir," Adams said, stopping next to Tanner. "Thought we'd flushed all the little bastards out. Clarkson just dropped the last one.”

"That's ok," Tanner offered him a wry smile. "You sorted it out in the end." 

Adams sniffed and side-eyed Bond. 

"Nice to see a double-oh working on home ground," he noted. Bond smirked at him, then took Tanner's arm, scooping up the discarded jacket with his other hand. 

"Let's get you stitched up. This lot can deal with the rest of the mess." 

Q was waiting with an impressively well stocked first aid kit when they got back down to his lab. Mallory stood in the corner, typing one handed on a laptop, a phone tucked against his ear with one shoulder and a walkie-talkie in his other hand. He glared at Tanner and Bond for a moment before turning back to his conversation. 

"Well this makes a pleasant change," Q noted, waving a hand at Tanner. "Sit, and Bond can be the one stitching for once, instead of being stitched up." 

"Thanks, Q." Tanner sighed and dropped into the chair, tipping his head back against the wall behind him and shutting his eyes for a moment. "Stupid little graze. That's all - the last one standing got a lucky shot off." 

"At least you managed to take one of them alive." Mallory sounded less than impressed and Tanner opened one eye to watch. Mallory dropped the phone with a moue of distaste and stared at Bond. "I want to know how they got into the bloody shafts in the first place." 

"We're reviewing footage now." Q pointed to the small handful of techs that hadn't made it home before things blew up. 

“Shirt off,” Bond knelt on the floor next to Tanner’s chair.

“What?”

“Unless you want me to cut the whole sleeve off?”

“I…” He was thrown for a moment, the only thought uppermost in his mind what that he couldn’t strip in front of Mallory. “Take the sleeve off. It’s ruined anyway.”

Bond didn’t question him and set to work, quickly and efficiently slicing through the fabric with a small scalpel and carefully easing the sodden field dressing away from the wound. 

“Nice graze,” Q said with a wince.

Okay, so maybe it was a little more than just a graze. The bullet had gouged a canyon along the meatiest part of his deltoid muscle. That was going to hurt like a bitch once the adrenaline had worn off.

Which, he decided, was happening fairly rapidly.

“Pethidine?” Bond asked quietly. Damn bloody intuitive agents to hell and back, Tanner thought.

“No. Lignocaine if there’s any. Otherwise just get on with it.”

“There’s a spray. It’ll sting like hell for a minute or two.” Bond waited for Tanner’s nod and then squirted the area liberally.

The next ten minutes were some of the more forgettable minutes of his life, Tanner decided, watching Bond smooth a clean white dressing over the neatly stitched area.

“You really are bloody good at that,” he noted, and Bond grinned up at him. And bloody good looking as well, he thought, although there was no way he would even contemplate that kind of idiocy. That way lay madness.

“It’s quite nice to be able to take the time to do a decent job. No one shooting at us, no imminent explosions. Good practise.”

“Glad to have been of some use.” Tanner flexed his arm and winced. “Tolerable. Thank you.”

Whilst Bond had been playing nurse, a steady stream of people had been coming and going, talking to Mallory and Q and even though his mind hadn’t been totally with it, he’d picked up enough to know that the relatively minor infringement of security had been completely contained.

“And they should have cleared enough of the rubble out of the tunnel for the rest of us to go home in about half an hour,” Mallory said, dropping the phone on the lab bench again and pinching the bridge of his nose. “Although after that bloody stupid stunt, Tanner, I should throw you in detention too.”

“My stupid stunt?” Tanner frowned. “I helped clear the tunnel of unwanted intruders, that’s all. I wasn’t jumping from the top of burning buildings or out of aeroplanes.”

“Everyone’s a critic, eh, 007?” Q said.

“You are no longer cleared for field duty!” Mallory said, irate. “Your job is not to put yourself in the line of fire, but to co-ordinate missions from within the safety of MI6 headquarters! You cannot take risks like that.”

"With all due respect, sir," Tanner snapped. There was no reason at all for Mallory to be scolding him like an itinerant schoolboy. "I am the most expendable person in this room and at the time, we didn’t know how many personnel were left on site. It's my job to assist you in any way possible, up to and including stepping between you and a bullet if necessary. So forgive me for doing my bloody job." 

Mallory blinked. 

"That's a bit harsh," Q began, but Bond shook his head. 

"Technically, Tanner is right. Most of the people in this bunker are more expendable than he is, but out of the four of us?" 

"Exactly. So stop bollocking me for getting shot,” Tanner said to Mallory. “You haven't got a monopoly on idiotic heroism around here." He ignored Bond's snort of amusement. 

“I beg your pardon?”

"Oh look," Q said, sounding far too cheery for the moment. "There's a side passage down near the old cartography room that leads to the District line." 

"Great. At least I can change to Bakerloo from there." 

“You aren’t climbing through ancient tunnels to find a sodding Tube station,” Mallory grumbled. Tanner, his sense of self-preservation completely off-line, ignored him.

He looked down at the rusty smears of drying blood on his bare arm. 

"Might need to find something to cover this up, seeing as how 007 shredded my jacket." 

"Only after that bullet had made a mess of it." 

"I liked that suit." He knew it sounded petulant but didn't really care by that point. Mallory was looking at him like he'd grown another head, Q was obviously concerned and the waves of amusement that were coming off Bond only highlighted how ridiculous he was being. 

"Sit down for a minute," Q said. "James, go find some mugs or glasses." 

That was even more surreal, Tanner thought and when he caught Mallory's eye he had to suppress an insane urge to giggle. 

Mallory, it appeared, didn't have the monopoly on top shelf liquor stashes either. The sixteen year old, single malt Irish whiskey that Q splashed into the pea green, institutional quality tea cups was even better than Mallory's cognac. Tanner felt faintly guilty for finishing his whiskey in three good mouthfuls, and let his head rest back against the wall again. He could hear Bond and Mallory talking quietly, the gentle tap-tap of Q's laptop reminding him of his mother's typewriter. 

Distantly, he was aware of the clean-up operation going on, the muted chatter through the half-open door reassuring him that MI6 was still functioning as it should, that somehow he'd managed to help save the day, albeit only from a minor irritation. His eyes closed of their own volition and he let himself relax. It wasn’t like it mattered if he let his guard down here. If he wasn’t safe to snooze in Q’s lab with a man licensed to kill and an ex-SAS officer in the room, then he should probably give up sleeping altogether.

His arm stung and throbbed like an absolute bitch in spite of the lignocaine spray. It shouldn’t scar too badly though, he thought, as Bond had done a neat job of the six stitches, each one precisely spaced and firmly knotted. Unlike the last time he’d been sewn up after a bullet had made a mess of him. 

Tanner had no idea what the dream was about, as it felt like he'd barely fallen asleep when someone knocked something onto the floor with a clatter. He came instantly, gaspingly awake and doubled over in his chair with both hands clutched against his left side. The memory of blood and pain and dry desert wind overrode all else and the cotton of his shirt felt gritty and sticky-wet against his skin.

"Tanner. Bill!" Someone else’s hands were on him, tugging his own away from his body and he blinked, eyes focusing on Mallory's worried face not two feet away. "Bill, look at me. You're in London, it's 2013, breathe."

Tanner took a deep breath and let it out through pursed lips, two or three times until the room stopped spinning. 

"I'm ok," he said, ignoring the shake in his voice. "It just - startled me. Not an episode." 

"Are you sure?" Mallory didn't look convinced and a quick glance up showed Q with a matching expression. Even more unnerving was the flash of sympathy on Bond's face. 

"Yes sir, I'm sure. Getting shot isn't something I tend to make a habit of. Unlike some people," he said with a pointed look, and was relieved to see the sympathy give way to a smile. "I think it's fairly normal to remember the last time." 

"Afghan." Mallory stood and held out a hand. Tanner took it unthinking, letting Mallory haul him to his feet. "Main entrance tunnel is clear. Let's get you home." 

"I'm fine, sir. Honestly." 

"Of course you are. That's why you just woke from a flashback, whilst bleeding out from your right thigh and with six stitches in your left shoulder.”

"Am I?" Tanner frowned down at his leg and, sure enough, the fabric of his trousers was dark and sticky. "Huh. I missed that." 

"So did you," Q jabbed Bond in the ribs. 

"He’s tougher than he looks," Bond said.

"Not bad for a pen pusher, I suppose." Tanner sighed. "Actually, now you mention it, sir, home sounds like a good idea." 

"Keep me informed," Mallory said to Bond. 

"M." 

One of Mallory's aides walked in carrying their overcoats. Tanner had a vague memory of being about to put it on in M's office before the first explosion but he didn't question it, instead allowing Mallory to carefully drape it around his shoulders. 

"Car's ready, sir," the aide said. 

"Thank you, Baxter." Mallory shrugged into his own pea coat. "Monday morning," he said to Q. "I want all relevant segments of the security footage ready to go. And Bond? Nice work."

Something clenched painfully in Tanner's chest at the smile Mallory aimed at 007. Ridiculous lovelorn fool, he chided himself, pulling away from the supportive hold Mallory had on his elbow. He swayed for a moment then straightened, turning to nod at Bond. 

"Try not to blow anything up over the weekend," he said. 

"We wouldn't dream of disturbing you."

Q snickered. Tanner wasn't sure which was more unsettling - the laugh or Bond's lascivious smirk.

Christ, he needed some sleep. 

He followed Mallory and Baxter down the corridors which were far busier than 9 o'clock on a Saturday night should have been. Outside the inner gate sat Mallory’s official Jag. Maybe he’d closed his eyes for longer than he realised, Tanner thought, sliding into the back seat. Most of the rubble from the first explosion had been cleared to one side, giving just enough room for Baxter to guide the big car through. The number of officers outside the gate had doubled and there was a small Bobcat digger parked by the gatehouse.

“Efficient as always,” Mallory noted, twisting in his seat to watch as they drove up and onto the main road. “Now, are you hungry?

Tanner frowned.

“Seeing as how I can’t actually remember the last time I ate, I probably should be.”

Mallory leaned forward and spoke to Baxter, who nodded. Tanner relaxed back in his seat, letting his eyes close and the quiet purr of the engine lulled him into a light doze. He was still aware of the car stopping and starting in traffic, but it wasn’t until it stopped and the driver’s door opened that he sat up, blinking.

“Baxter is just collecting something for me,” Mallory told him. There was a soft smile on his face, an expression that Tanner had never seen before. “How are you feeling?”

“Sore, but ok.” Tanner twisted his head from side to side, stretching the kinks out. “Actually, that little nap seems to have cleared my head a bit. Where are we?” he asked, looking out of the window. 

“Outside one of the best Vietnamese places this side of the river.” 

“Supper run.” Tanner nodded, stretching out his left arm tentatively. He could get it almost horizontal before the pain got too much but he was happy enough with that. Tomorrow it would hurt like a bitch. “You can just drop me off at the next tube station.”

“No I bloody well can’t.” Mallory looked offended. “You’re coming home with me and you’re going to eat something before I let you wander off on your own. And I want to have a look at that leg.”

Tanner poked the tacky material of his trousers. 

“I think it’s just a scratch,” he said. “It’s not bleeding anymore.”

“And what precisely did you scratch it on?”

That was a good question, Tanner thought. He hadn’t got a clue. His lack of answer appeared to appease Mallory’s irritation somewhat. Whilst he was still trying to think of a response, Baxter got back in the car and they set off again.

“That’s the whole suit ruined anyway.” Tanner stuck a finger into the hole. The realisation that it was another bullet graze made something cold slide down his spine. “Huh. Second glancing blow of the evening.”

“There will be no third.” Mallory didn’t look angry, which was puzzling. His expression seemed more - upset? Tanner gave up trying to figure it out because the smell of the bag Baxter had placed onto the passenger seat was starting to pervade the whole car and his stomach gave a lurching growl.

The car turned onto Carlyle Square and glided to a smooth stop outside a perfectly proportioned Georgian terrace. The perfect proportions extended to the inside of the property too. It looked and felt like he’d just stepped into a modern gentleman’s club, all light wood panelling and polished floors. Mallory placed the food on the breakfast bar and waved Tanner towards a stool.

“Sit down, Bill, before you fall down.” He was hunting through cupboards and drawers, putting plates and cutlery out and filling two glasses with water. “You seriously cannot go a whole working day without eating.”

“We were fairly busy, if you recall.” Tanner watched with interest as Mallory lined up a number of cartons in front of him and began describing the contents.

“Com tam rang. Rice with chicken and prawns. You should at least try to eat breakfast, you know. This is Pho xao, noodles, fairly sure it’s the beef version. Come on, get stuck in before it goes cold.” He opened two more containers, both with noodles and a final one that looked like it held some kind of spring roll. “Banh goi,” Mallory said as Tanner stabbed one with his fork. “Eat up.”

To be honest, he’d not realised he was quite so hungry. As he swallowed the first mouthful of pho xao, his stomach woke up and reminded him just how bloody starving he actually was. There was a spell of silence as they did their best to empty all the containers on the breakfast bar.

“I’m sure I had something this morning,” Tanner said, sitting back and reaching for a napkin. “Wasn’t there toast involved in that meeting with the Thames River Police?”

“That was yesterday.” The look Mallory gave him over his last forkful of noodles made Tanner wince.

“Ah, right.” He shrugged, then wished he hadn’t. “It’s been a long day, sir.”

“Bill.” Mallory put down his fork. “Will you please drop the sir? It’s Gareth here.”

Tanner nodded, sighing. First it had been Gareth at work, now it was Gareth in private. It wasn’t doing his equilibrium much good, especially when he was sitting opposite a relaxed and genial Mallory. Who had shed his jacket and loosened his tie. Tanner swallowed, reaching for the glass of water.

“I’ve never been particularly good at the ordinary parts of life.” He looked into the glass to avoid Mallory’s eyes. “In the Army someone else dealt with food and allocated rest times. I enjoy my work, and I’m good at it. Basic things like eating regular meals just get shoved to one side when there are so many more fascinating things going on.”

“Like the stability of the British government.”

“Exactly.” Bill looked up with what he hoped was a smile. 

“You spend even more time at work than I do. You’re always there when I arrive and rarely leave before me.” Gareth studied Tanner, his face curious. “How long is it since you had a reason for going home each evening?”

“That… all depends upon what you class as a reason.” He looked down at his plate, wondering why the hell Mallory thought he could ask such a question. And, more to the point, why he was about to answer it honestly. “My Sky+ is full of Sci-fi and History Channel programmes I never get time to watch. Books I never get chance to read. No pets. About the only thing I go home for is my extremely comfortable bed and a change of clothes.” Tanner rolled his left shoulder, wincing at the pull of stitches. He suddenly felt incredibly self-conscious of the fact he was sat there in a shirt with only one sleeve. 

“Friends, family, partner?”

“Friends are scattered around the world. A fair few are still in the Army, some are private contractors in the Middle East. I speak to a couple every few months and brush up my Arabic.” Tanner forced a laugh. “I don’t have time to make friends outside of my work, Gareth. You of all people should understand that.” He picked up the glass of water Mallory had placed in front of him and sipped it. “As for family, they live in Gloucestershire. Bit far to pop and see them. We speak every week or so.” At least, he spoke to his mother and sister. No one knew where his father was and, to be honest, nobody really cared all that much, least of all his mother. “And no partner.”

“So what do you live for?”

Tanner smiled. This was probably the easiest question Mallory had asked him all day. 

“Making a difference.”

One of Mallory’s eyebrows went up.

“And you think you do?”

“Oh yes.” This was the one arena in which Tanner had full confidence. “I’m good at what I do. I was good at it in the Army and I’m just as bloody good at it where I am now. I live and breathe intelligence, help wrangle the double-ohs, keep Q branch from blowing everything up - or at least try and stop them giving agents like Bond the means to do so - and all those things go together to help MI6 do what it does, which is keep England safe.” He sat up a little straighter on the tall stool. “I may be a mousy, grey little bureaucrat but what I do counts for something and I like to think that I do it more than tolerably well.”

“Is that how you see yourself?” Mallory gave him an incredulous look, pinning him in place for a long moment before standing. “Whilst, for the record, I agree with everything you have said about your ability,” Mallory said, collecting their plates and dropping them into the pristine white ceramic sink. “I very much disagree with the moniker of ‘mousy little bureaucrat’.”

“Everyone is entitled to their opinion.” Tanner sighed, looking at the clock. It was nearly ten. “Would a taxi home be too much of an extravagance?” he mused.

“You aren’t going anywhere until I’ve checked your leg.” Mallory jerked his head towards the door into the hall. “Come on.”

Grumbling under his breath, Tanner followed him out of the kitchen. They went up the first flight of stairs onto a plushly carpeted landing, off which were four doors. Mallory led him into what appeared to be a dressing room. A bank of wardrobes lined one wall with two matching chests of drawers sitting side by side under the window. Opposite the wardrobes was an honest-to-god chaise longue. Tanner couldn’t help his grin when he saw it. 

“Red and gold brocade. Didn’t have you pegged for such a hedonist, Gareth.” He liked saying his name, Tanner realised. It felt good in his mouth - and he was going to stop that train of thought right there, especially if he was going to have to undress.

“Shut up and sit down. My sister-in-law bought it for me. My brother thought it was highly amusing. Lose the trousers whilst you’re at it.”

Well, this wasn’t uncomfortable at all, Tanner decided, bending over to unlace his shoes with one hand. His whole left arm was aching and he kept it pressed against his side. He slid his trousers off and sat there, feeling foolish in his torn bloodied shirt, striped boxers and black socks. He poked the weeping gouge in his thigh experimentally.

“Stop that,” Gareth chided, coming back in. Somewhere between the dressing room and where ever he’d been, he’d shed his waistcoat and tie, and the sight of him with his shirt sleeves rolled up to expose corded, muscular forearms did something to Tanner’s insides. There was a sliver of throat visible where he’d also undone the top button of his shirt, and Tanner had to forcibly pull his eyes away from that tempting V of skin.

“It doesn’t look that bad.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.” Gareth sat next to him on the chaise longue and placed warm hands either side of the gouge. “It’s not hot, so that’s always a good sign.” Opening a green plastic briefcase, he pulled out a handful of packages.

“That’s a serious-looking bit of kit,” Tanner said.

“My brother is a neuro-surgeon, my sister-in-law a paediatrician. I mentioned a while back that my old army medical kit was looking a little depleted and this turned up for me.” He dabbed at the mess on Tanner’s leg, bending forward to get a better look.

“Ouch, fuck.” Tanner tried not to flinch back. “What is that, acid?”

“Disinfectant. Who knows what kind of rubbish was on your trousers when you were hit.” Gareth’s hands were sure and the air of competence he exuded made something in Tanner relax. Yes, if M ever realised the depth of affection his Chief of Staff had for him, he’d be right royally screwed, but for now? For now, Tanner decided, he was going to let himself be looked after, for once.

“Better?” Gareth asked, looking up with a smile. His face was barely a foot away and this close, Tanner could see the fine lines around the edges of his silver green eyes. There was always a hint of a smile in Gareth’s expression, even when he was pissed off with someone, that touch of sardonic amusement humanising him more than was probably sane to notice.

Even when he was stemming the fresh rivulets of blood oozing from the mess of Tanner’s thigh.

“That’s a serious expression, Bill. I’m not hurting you too much, am I?” 

“No, it’s fine. The stitches were worse.”

“This won’t need proper stitches.” Gareth wiped the edges of the wound clean and ripped a package of paper butterfly stitches open. “A few of these and a waterproof dressing and you’ll be fine.”

“Do you have a spare one of those for the other one?” He looked at the square of white on his arm. “If it’s waterproof, I could have a shower once I get home.”

“Shower here. Then I’ll put a fresh dressing on.”

“No, no, I don’t want to put you out-”

“Enough,” Gareth snapped. “Don’t be ridiculous, man. You’re not going home tonight. I have spare clothes and plenty of room.” His fingers were delicate with the butterfly stitches in spite of the gruff irritation behind his words, and Tanner could only nod. Once the dressing was stuck on to his liking, Gareth showed Tanner to his bathroom, pointing out soap, shampoo and towels. 

The shower was a large, walk-in affair of glass and sandstone tiles. Tanner let himself stand under the spray for long, indulgent minutes, washing away the grime and the blood and the dust of the day. He deliberately didn’t think about anything as he scrubbed himself clean. The towel on the heated rail was thick and far more luxurious than anything he had at home.

The dressing covering the wound on his arm had washed off in the shower, so Tanner wrapped the towel around his waist and padded barefoot back into the dressing room where Gareth was digging through the chest of drawers for something.

“Nice shower,” he said, and Gareth stood, turning and opening his mouth to say something - but then he froze.

Tanner watched those piercing green eyes widen in surprise, felt them travel down over his chest and beyond before making a leisurely journey back up his body, lingering on where the towel sat low on his hips. The hunger he saw in Gareth’s face took his breath away.

“Oh,” he said, and the brightness of the light bulb that went off in his head was probably enough to illuminate the whole of Westminster and Chelsea. Suddenly, all the little quips and asides and jokes made perfect sense, as did Bond’s observations that afternoon. They hadn’t been made by M to Tanner at all. They’d been aimed at Bill, from Gareth and everything became so much clearer with hindsight. “ _Oh._ ”

“Ah, yes. Oh indeed.” Gareth looked abashed for a moment, rubbing the back of his neck, then he smiled ruefully. “You didn’t know?”

“No,” Bill said. “I'm not used to people, uh, showing - well, interest." He looked down at himself. Short, compact, sturdily built, with little excess fat from the number of meals he managed to miss, but a touch soft in the middle from too much desk work… “I’m not really very interesting. 

“You really are ridiculous.” Gareth crossed the room and took hold of Bill’s arm to inspect the damage. “Sit down a moment.”

Still wrapped in just a towel, Bill did as instructed, watching as Gareth’s deft fingers dried the skin of his upper arm and covered the neat line of stitches with a fresh dressing.

“Is this what all the double entendres and obscure comments have been about?” Bill asked. Gareth shrugged.

“Might have been.”

“There’s no might about it. This has been going on for weeks - since M’s funeral in fact.”

“So you did notice.”

“I’m quiet, not stupid.” Bill frowned. "If you could see this going this way, why not simply say something, rather than tormenting me?" 

“I - don’t know," Gareth admitted. "Bond assured me that you’d be amenable to the idea, but I was hoping you might say something first." 

Bill pulled away slightly, just enough to focus on Gareth's face and to raise an eyebrow. 

"Bond was sure?” He blinked, trying to parse that particular thought. Gareth had asked 007… The idea of the two of them discussing his sexual proclivities was at once flattering and disturbing. “It doesn't work like that," he said. "You're my commanding officer, my senior in age, rank and experience. Army life doesn't condition you to make advances on superior officers." 

"Maybe I wasn't thinking things all the way through." Gareth's hand settled on Bill's uninjured thigh, warm and grounding. "I wanted you, but wasn't entirely sure the feeling was reciprocated. After a couple of weeks of testing the waters, so to speak, 007 gave me a bollocking." 

"Yes," Bill said drily. " I was there." 

"Oh, no. That little ‘being cruel’ speech today was the second one. About a week ago, he asked me what my intentions were and told me I'd better hurry up and make a move before someone else did." 

Bill laughed. 

"That's highly improbable. No one notices me at all. I'm just a boring little man who has always been M's shadow." 

Gareth shook his head. 

"Boring you are not, William Tanner. You have the undying respect of the entire armed guard as well as the unswerving loyalty of every soul in that building. You are solid and dependable and absolutely bloody fearless. And everyone can see that, it appears, except you." He smiled. "You're friends with a double-oh, for God’s sake." 

"Bond is a unique case." 

"So are you." Gareth's hand came up to cup Bill's face. "Now, if it's not too much trouble, I'd really like to kiss you for a while." 

Words were pretty much an impossibility after that. Bill nodded, leaning forward as Gareth closed the gap between them. Gareth’s lips were warm and dry, brushing against his own with gentle pressure, and Bill was suddenly overwhelmed by the reality of what was happening. All those weeks of noble self-denial, of telling himself he would never get what he wanted, never have more than the cordial friendship of this man whom he admired so fiercely… 

Lifting his hands, he caught Gareth’s face between his palms and deepened the kiss, licking along the seam of his mouth until he felt the tentative touch of his tongue. That seemed to be all the invitation Gareth needed, because his kiss suddenly turned feral and Bill found himself being pushed backwards against the side of the chaise longue, pinned in place by the heat of Gareth’s body. The fact that Gareth was still fully dressed and he was only wearing a towel should not have been as erotic as it was, he thought, suppressing a groan. He could feel each button of Gareth’s pale blue shirt pressing into his chest.

“Off,” Bill muttered, pulling his mouth free just long enough so he could duck his head and bite the soft patch of skin at the side of Gareth’s neck.

“Wha-?”

“Your bloody shirt.” He sucked and felt a shiver go through Gareth. “Off, now.” To emphasise his point, he began pulling at buttons. 

Swearing under his breath, Gareth leaned back, pulled his shirt tails out of his trousers and then hauled the whole thing over his head, taking his vest along with it. There was a brief pause whilst he wrestled with his cufflinks, before dropping the lot onto the floor behind the chaise.

“How uncivilised,” Bill grinned at him.

“You have that effect on me.” The glare Gareth gave him was somewhat off-set by the mussed hair and dilated eyes, and Bill decided that it was a particularly good look on him. “Don’t look so bloody pleased with yourself.”

“But I am,” he said, and smothered a laugh against Gareth’s mouth as he found himself pinned to the brocade cushions.

Christ, that was better, he decided. All that hot skin pressed against his, the light rasp of chest hair and the faint trace of Gareth’s aftershave. It was intoxicating.

"I want to fuck you," Gareth murmured and Bill shuddered.

"Christ, yes please." 

"And then, maybe later," Gareth said, fingers moving to the top of the towel around Bill’s waist. "I was rather hoping you'd return the favour."

It was said diffidently, as if he wasn't sure he should be asking and all Bill could think was 'fuck yes' as he surged forward, kissing him hard and dirty.

"That's a yes then?" Gareth asked some minutes later, breathless and wide eyed.

"God, yes, sir." Bill didn't miss the little hitch in Gareth's breath at the honorific and filed that away for future reference. "First, though, can we move this to a bed?" 

"Are you not up for couch sex, Bill?" Gareth was dishevelled and shirtless and if he could, Bill would have happily stayed right where they were, hands roaming the lean, muscular expanse of exposed chest, biting kisses into the long line of Gareth's neck. 

"Unfortunately one of those Afghani bullets did a number on my knee," he said, apologetically. "Otherwise I would happily ride you here until you couldn't see straight." 

"God," Gareth's eyes fluttered closed for a moment. "You, bedroom, now." 

"That was my plan, yes." 

Gareth pushed himself upright, and Bill sat up, but the sight of Gareth spread out before him was too good to pass up. He slipped from the chaise to kneel between Gareth's legs, bracing an elbow on each knee. 

"Bill, what are you doing?"

"Indulge me," was all Bill said, but he was busy tugging down the zip of Gareth's trousers and sliding his hand into the waistband of his shorts. The sound Gareth made may have been a word once but by the time it made it past his lips it was little more than a choked vowel. Bill's fingers closed around the hot length he found and he carefully drew Gareth's erection out.

It was pretty much proportionate to the rest of the man and Bill shivered at the thought of getting that inside him very soon. It was long and slender and he spent a very happy moment imagining it hitting all the right spots. But for now, he wanted a taste. 

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Gareth breathed, eyes fluttering shut as Bill curled his tongue around the head of that long, perfect dick. He looked up and decided that he wanted to put that expression on Gareth’s face every day for the next forty-odd years. Gareth’s head was thrown back, mouth open, with his indecent eyelashes resting on his cheeks. Absolutely beautiful, Bill thought.

There was no way he was ever going to get the entire thing in his mouth, Bill knew, wrapping his hand around the base of Gareth’s erection and jacking him slowly. But he could probably get half of it in. A moment later he was gratified to find he was right, and Gareth’s benediction of “God, Bill,” sent a shiver down his spine. He tasted good, the hot heavy weight on his tongue enough to make his own cock jerk under the towel. He could do this all day; a slow suck as he drew back, following his mouth with his hand, dipping his tongue into the slit for a moment before sliding back down, hollowing his cheeks as he added a twist with his hand before repeating the manoeuvre. Gareth’s hips were twitching, tiny aborted thrusts as he attempted to hold back from fucking up into Bill’s mouth. Not that Bill would have minded.

“Fuck, Bill, enough.” Gareth’s hand grasped at the short hairs on the back of Bill’s head, tugging him off. “God.” He struggled upright to find Bill grinning at him. “I’m never going to be able to look at your mouth in public again.”

“Just my mouth?”

“All of you.” Gareth stood, holding out his hand. Bill took it and let himself be pulled to his feet. But once upright, Gareth pulled Bill close up against him, a firm hand at the nape of his neck tipping his head back enough to kiss. There was something ridiculously erotic about being held tight and thoroughly kissed by someone so much taller than he was, Bill thought, trying to resist the urge to swoon in Gareth's arms like some sort of forties’ dame. But fuck, it felt good. What also felt good was the hard length of Gareth's erection pressing into his hip, nothing but the rapidly slipping towel between them. Experimentally, he pushed his own aching dick against Gareth and got a choked groan in reward. 

“Bedroom?” Bill asked, sliding his hands down Gareth’s sides to the waistband of his trousers and pushing them down. They glided over his hips and fell immediately to the floor, shortly followed by his boxers. 

“Yes, yes, absolutely, before you give me a bloody heart attack where I stand. I’m not a young man.”

Bill drew back, squinting up at Gareth.

“You’re what, fifty? That’s not old.”

“Fifty one. To your thirty five. Shocking behaviour.” Gareth kissed him gently, and the softness of that touch fired up something inside Bill.

“Do you expect me to call you daddy then?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. He wasn’t prepared for the full body shudder that elicited in Gareth. “Oh,” he said with a pleased chuckle. “That might be something to talk about one day.”

“You really are trying to kill me, aren’t you?”

“Not until tomorrow,” Bill said, reaching up to brush a thumb over Gareth’s lips. “Because I distinctly remember you saying something about fucking me.”

“The bed is this way.” Gareth took a step back, hands sliding down Bill’s arms until their fingers tangled together. “Come on.”

Gareth’s bedroom was a study in pale linen and warm oak, about as far from a utilitarian Army officer’s room as it was possible to get. 

“On the bed, soldier,” Gareth said and then frowned as Bill laughed. “What?”

“Does that work on everyone?” Bill asked, shedding his towel and sitting on the edge of the bed. He watched Gareth’s eyes track the movement, then focus sharply between his legs. 

“I wouldn’t know,” Gareth said, clearly distracted. “You have been hiding your light under a bushel, haven’t you?”

Bill looked down and shrugged. He was pretty much the exact opposite to Gareth. He wasn’t long, barely average in length, but was very thick. 

“That, uh, I,” Gareth said, and paused, blinking. “Oh yes, please and thank you.”

Bill tipped over backwards on to the bed, chuckling, only to find himself bracketed in by Gareth’s arms and legs, their faces barely inches apart.

“I’ve never seen you smile so much either,” Gareth brushed a soft kiss over Bill’s lips. “I like it. It suits you.”

“I think I have every reason to be smiling right now, don’t you?” He ran his hands up the taut muscles of Gareth’s thighs and over his firm backside. “Come here.”

“Move up a bit.”

They wriggled up the bed a ways, bumping elbows and knees and trying to avoid jarring any of Bill’s injuries. As soon as Bill’s head reached the pillow, Gareth pinned him to the bed and took up kissing where they’d left off in the dressing room. 

This time though, they touched along the entire length of their bodies, skin against skin and Bill rocked his hips up to meet Gareth’s downward thrusts as they kissed, wet and messy and perfect.

The rhythm was perfect as well - too perfect. Bill gasped, arching under Gareth's body as their erections slipped and rubbed together between the heat of their bellies. 

"Whoa, whoa, stop," Bill said suddenly, pushing at Gareth's shoulders. 

"What? What's wrong?" 

"Nothing, just," he managed a rueful grin as he tried to get his breathing back under control. "I'm too close. It’s, uh, been a while. Don't want to come til you're in me." 

“I can manage that.” Gareth tipped his head to one side, curious. “How long has it been?”

“Um. Months?” Bill shrugged. “Been fairly busy lately.”

“That I understand.” Gareth kissed him quickly. “Roll over.”

Bill settled onto his stomach, shifting for Gareth to push a pillow under his hips when asked and relaxed, resting his head on his crossed arms. This bed was incredibly comfortable, he thought, trying not to hyper-focus on Gareth. The first touch of a cool, wet finger still made him jump.

“Relax,” Gareth murmured in his ear. “I like this part.”

That, Bill thought a while later, was an understatement. He’d been expecting a fast, efficient prep. Instead, Gareth took great delight in being as careful and thorough as possible, until time ceased to have any meaning. At one point, Bill felt something pushed into his hand and opened his eyes to see a condom packet. 

“You expect me to multi-task at a time like this?” he asked, breathless and shaking. He ripped the little packet open to the sound of Gareth’s laughter and threw it haphazardly over his shoulder. He was rewarded with a third finger and a glancing swipe across his prostate.

He would never look at Gareth’s hands again in the same light. 

“Fuck, Gareth, enough!” Bill gasped, pushing back onto three fingers even as he tried to rock forward to get some friction on his poor, neglected dick. “Please, god, sir.”

“Seeing as how you’ve asked so nicely,” Gareth muttered in his ear. A moment later Bill had to suppress a pathetic whimper of disappointment as he was suddenly left empty and cold. “Hush,” Gareth said, moving up the bed to kiss the centre of Bill’s back. “I’m here, I’ve got you.”

“God yes.” Bill arched as he felt the nudge of something hot and blunt and then gasped as Gareth pushed halfway in in a single thrust. “Whoa, wait, fuck.”

“Shh,” Gareth breathed in his ear. 

Soothing hands ran down Bill’s sides as wet, biting kisses across his shoulders sent shivers throughout his body. Gareth drew back a little, rocking into him in incremental stages, back and forth, the movement accompanied by wordless reassurances and gentle touches.

“That’s it,” Gareth said. His voice was rough, breathless. “That’s all of it. Christ, Bill.”

“I…” Bill swallowed, willing his body to relax, to let Gareth in, let him possess and take and own him completely. “I’ve wanted this… wanted you… for so long.”

“You’ve got me. Every bit.” Gareth pulled out a fraction before pushing back in. “As long as you want me.”

Always, Bill thought.

Gareth’s hand tightened where it rested on Bill’s shoulder, a kiss landing somewhere to the left of his mouth. Bill turned his head, chasing Gareth’s lips to return the kiss, uncoordinated and desperate. Suddenly the tightness eased as his muscles relaxed and on the next inward thrust, Bill saw stars. 

"Oh, God," he moaned. There was a breathless laugh from behind him. 

"That's the spot then?" 

"Fuck yes." 

Gareth, it seemed, was as much an over achiever in bed as he was in the public eye. Now he'd found the right angle, he hit it three out of every four strokes and Bill was soon writhing, bucking back up into every thrust. 

"Are you close?" Gareth asked, leaning forward to murmur in Bill's ear. "You feel close. You feel tight, hot and grasping; I can feel your heartbeat when I stop like this." He held himself still for a second, buried deep inside and Bill swore, twisting beneath him and pushing back. 

"Christ, don't stop now," he pleaded. "Come on, come on." 

“Wait.” 

To Bill’s shock, Gareth pulled out. 

“Over,” he ordered, accompanying it with a gentle slap on Bill’s hip. Bill rolled onto his back and then Gareth was there, kissing him fast and hard. “Want to see your face,” he said by way of explanation. “Come on.” He hooked an arm under one of Bill’s legs and lifted him enough so he could slide straight back in.

“God, yes,” Bill groaned. “Why were we not doing this weeks ago?”

Gareth smothered a laugh against Bill’s shoulder. It felt so good, Bill thought, shifting his legs so he could wrap them around Gareth’s slim hips. It was everything he could have hoped for it, and so much more besides. Intensely hot and yet they were laughing, Gareth’s smiling mouth on his own, stealing his breath and swallowing the helpless choked-off noises he couldn’t help but make with each snap of Gareth’s hips.

“Want you to come for me, Bill,” Gareth murmured, pushing up onto one arm. His rhythm didn’t falter as he reached between them to grasp hold of Bill’s thick erection. Bill looked down between them, at Gareth’s long fingers curled possessively around him and shuddered. “I know you can, that you’re close.” Gareth’s hand squeezed and twisted, his thumb brushing over the head to rub across the frenulum. And that was all it took.

Bill shuddered, his orgasm punching through him with enough force to leave him breathless and shaking. Gareth eased him through it, hand gentle where it was wrapped around Bill's still-twitching dick but implacable, still moving, still stroking, squeezing every last drop out.

"God, Gareth," Bill groaned. "I - I can't. I - fuck. Enough." He was too sensitive, every nerve lit up like someone had plugged him into the mains and he could feel Gareth's hips moving, tiny impatient twitches, barely held in check 

"Can I?" Gareth asked, voice strained. "Please, Bill."

"Yes, yes, come on."

Gareth put both hands on the bed either side of Bill’s shoulders and lifted up enough so he could fuck into Bill with short fast strokes. Bill looked up, watching the expressions flit across Gareth's face. There was something almost reverent in Gareth's eyes but before Bill had time to work out exactly what that meant, Gareth gave one final thrust, burying himself deep as he came, gasping Bill's name. His eyes closed, lips parted and Bill had never seen anything so bloody amazing. 

Gareth dropped down, his weight part supported on his elbows but still pressing against Bill down the length of their bodies, heedless of the mess between them. 

"I think you might need another shower, old boy," Gareth said, and Bill decided he would do anything to hear that fucked-out voice again. Gareth smiled, endearing little crinkles forming round his eyes. "We appear to have become a little dirty again."

"Best kind of dirty." Bill ran his hands down Gareth's spine until he could get a double handful of muscular arse. "So when did you want me to return the favour?"

“Christ on a cannonball.” Gareth shuddered and let his forehead drop onto Bill’s shoulder. “I am not a young man.”

“So, half an hour or so?” 

What actually happened was a touch more prosaic. Gareth finally moved, gently holding Bill down as he tried to sit up.

“Wait there,” Gareth said, and disappeared into the en suite. 

Bill didn’t have it in him to argue and instead, sprawled across the big bed. It was just as comfortable as his one at home, and that thought sent a pang of something through him which he didn’t want to look at too closely. Which meant that his mind immediately supplied him with a dozen reasons why he didn’t want to move from the spot he was lying in, just to make his way back across the city at this time of night.

“Stop thinking so hard,” Gareth told him, coming out of the bathroom with a cloth in each hand. For a man who’d passed fifty the year before, he was in bloody good condition and Bill was suitably distracted from his internal monologue. As Gareth knelt on the edge of the bed, Bill reached out to run a hand over the flat stomach. 

“So what’s your secret then?” he asked. “You’re fitter than I am.”

Gareth laughed.

“Twenty two years in the Army,” he said, and began to wipe Bill clean with a warm, damp flannel. Bill hardly heard him. No one had ever taken the time or effort to do this for him before, and as Gareth used the dry flannel to chase away the last traces of moisture from Bill’s chest and stomach, Bill felt a fierce surge of affection and something considerably more dangerous rush through him. “There, clean. Under the covers.” Gareth tossed the two flannels in the direction of the bathroom door and tugged at the bedding. “Move.” 

Bill did as he was told; sliding under what appeared to be a down-filled duvet wrapped in the smoothest cotton he’d ever touched.

“You’re a hedonist,” he said aloud, without thinking.

Gareth rolled onto his side, a wry smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Let’s not tell everyone, hmm?” His eyes flicked to the top of Bill’s arm. “How does that feel now?”

“Oddly enough, I can hardly feel a thing.” Which was a blatant lie, and the twitch of Gareth’s eyebrow told him exactly what Gareth thought of that statement too. 

“Oh really.” Gareth lifted the duvet a little. “Come here then.”

Bill let himself be moved, turned onto his right side so his injured arm was uppermost. He all but melted into the mattress then as Gareth pressed up behind him and draped an arm around Bill’s waist, holding him close.

“Get some sleep,” Gareth murmured in his ear, pressing a kiss to the back of his neck. “Barring 007 blowing up Dubai airport when he lands, we should have a quiet day tomorrow. And, maybe, you can return the favour then.”

Hell, yes, Bill thought, eyes already drifting shut.

 

~

The next morning, as Bill slid slowly, reverently, into Gareth, he had to bite his lip in order to stop himself saying something he really shouldn't. It felt so good, so hot-tight-perfect . 

He ran his palms along Gareth's arms until he could wrap his hands around Gareth's wrists. Gareth groaned as Bill pinned his hands to the bed either side of his head. 

"So good," Bill murmured in his ear. "You're so good for me." 

A shudder went through Gareth and he nodded, face pressed into the pillow. Something else to explore, Bill thought, the very idea making him shiver with anticipation. 

"Stop feeling smug and bloody well move," Gareth grumbled breathlessly, pushing back suddenly. 

"Yes sir," Bill replied with a snap of his hips. Gareth choked on a moan. "How do you want it? Hard and fast?" He pushed himself up so he could look down between their bodies, along the line of Gareth's spine to where he could see himself disappearing into Gareth's body. Fuck, that was hot, he thought, pulling out almost all the way before driving back in, hard enough to hear the sound of skin slapping on skin. That, he thought, was incredibly gratifying. 

Bill increased the pace, fast and relentless until Gareth's stoic façade crumbled completely, reducing him to a gasping, begging entity.

Then, Bill slowed almost to a stop. It nearly killed him, but he bit his lip to stop him groaning in frustration and carefully pulled out until only the very tip of him was inside. 

"What...?" Gareth twisted, trying to look over his shoulder at Bill. 

"Humour me," Bill said. And then he pushed back in slowly, inexorably, rubbing every thick inch over Gareth's prostate. Gareth gasped, all protests forgotten.

Bill alternated his strokes, one sliding over that sublime bump, the next jabbing firmly against it. He didn't increase his speed though, keeping it slow and steady and relentless. He began to lose himself in the rhythm, focusing solely on Gareth - on the heat and tightness that pulled him back in on every measured thrust, the little choked sounds and bitten-off curses, and the beautiful flex of Gareth's back. He didn’t let himself get distracted by the fine silver network of scars that criss-crossed Gareth’s ribcage and resolutely ignored the tight, heavy feeling that was already building in his balls, determined to keep going as long as he could until Gareth came first.

Which wouldn’t be far off now, Bill realised. His hands were still wrapped securely around Gareth’s wrists, and he could feel the flex of the tendons beneath his fingers as Gareth clutched at the sheets beneath them. Every thrust now was accompanied by a broken plea.

“God, Bill, please, yes, more,” Gareth demanded. There was a quip about bossy bottoms there somewhere, but Bill was having enough trouble even thinking straight by that point. He couldn’t help picking up the pace, torn between wanting to drag this out all morning and the need to come right now. 

Beneath him, Gareth suddenly froze, breath catching with an audible gasp. The next second, he was shuddering, shaking to pieces without a single touch and that, coupled with the abrupt tightening of all Gareth’s muscles, tipped Bill over the edge too. Unable to hold off his orgasm a moment longer, Bill thrust in as deeply in as he could and let go, body wracked with convulsions.

He became aware of Gareth’s breathing first, quickly followed by the ache in his arms where he’d locked his elbows straight. Easing his fingers from around Gareth’s wrists, Bill spent a moment rubbing some feeling back into Gareth’s hands before pushing himself up and off. Gareth made a faint noise of discontent as Bill slipped free of his body.

“Okay?” Bill asked.

“Perfectly,” was the reply, and Bill couldn’t help the smug smile. There was that fucked-out tone again. He rolled off the bed and headed into the en suite on shaky legs to deal with the condom, and to fetch a warm flannel. He came back into the bedroom just in time to see Gareth flop over onto his back on the bed.

“I don’t want to know where you learnt that particular trick,” Gareth said, voice wrecked. “Because I would no doubt become unspeakably jealous.”

“Afghani nights are long and cold,” Bill began, but dissolved into laughter when Gareth scowled at him.

“Were I not so tired, I might think of another use for that mouth,” Gareth said. Bill blinked, then winced as his exhausted dick gave a feeble twitch at the idea.

“Who is trying to kill whom now?” He did a half- hearted job of cleaning up, but was easily dissuaded from finishing it by Gareth pulling him into a warm kiss.

“Skip the flannel,” Gareth murmured, sliding a possessive hand along Bill’s side. “Shall we shower?”

A bubble of happiness welled up in Bill’s chest at Gareth’s fond expression. He knew he was smiling like a loon but was helpless to rein in his emotions.

“Sounds like a marvellous idea.”

 

~

 

“Nice to see you back in one piece,” Bill said, stepping into his office. Bond turned from where he’d been looking out over the Thames. There was something strange about him, Bill thought. “I hear everything went swimmingly.”

“Remarkably so.” Bond shoved his hands into his trouser pockets and moved to rest a hip on the edge of Bill’s desk. “I even managed to avoid getting shot.”

“How extraordinary.” Bill dumped the stack of folders on the filing cabinet in the corner. “And you neglected to blow anything up. Are you feeling alright, 007?”

“Perfectly fine.”

And there it was, Bill thought, squashing down an urge to laugh. The reason for the relaxed stance, the easy set of Bond’s broad shoulders.

“You finally told him, didn’t you?” Bill asked.

The sardonic smirk flickered for a moment, softening into something frighteningly human.

“Not quite.”

Bill knelt to put a handful of files into the cabinet, completely unfazed by having his back to a trained killer. Who, Bill decided, standing back up and moving around his desk to drop into his chair, was looking a little sheepish.

“He told you.” Bill pressed a fingertip to his top lip, but obviously couldn’t contain the mirth completely. Bond scowled at him, then shrugged.

“Looks like I wasn’t the only one who had certain things pointed out to him.” Bond looked meaningfully at the mark on Bill’s neck which his collar couldn’t quite hide. Bill didn’t care one jot and simply grinned. 

“It’s been a rather good week.” He studied Bond a moment, letting his instinctive eye for detail take in everything about him. “So what’s bothering you?”

“Nothing.” The mask was back as Bond stood, checking his cuffs. “I’d better go see M now he’s free. If you’ve finished with him, that is.”

“Nothing that can’t wait until tonight.” 

Bond rolled his eyes.

“That, Tanner, is far too much information.”

“No such thing.” He was already planning a trip down to Q branch after lunch. “Carry on, 007.”


End file.
